Body Heat
by murdur
Summary: Loki and Sif share a sleeping bag for warmth. Sexual content.


Written for Loki/Sif Week on Tumblr!

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Stretched out on the hard floor of the cave, Loki laid with his back turned to the small fire. He sighed deeply. The mission he and the warrior Sif had been set upon by his mother, Queen Frigga to retrieve water from the well of Hvergelmir had not gone according to plan. Their travels to the realm of Niflheim, land of ice and cold, of nine frozen rivers had been plagued by obstacles.

When a blinding mist had descended upon them as they travelled across the icy land, it had delayed them for hours. Then they came upon a great glacial fissure, having no choice but to jump the distance or spend countless more hours travelling around it. Sif had made the leap to the other side with relative ease. Loki, however, had landed precariously close to the edge of the snowy cliff and felt the ice shift beneath his feet. With a crack, the place he stood broke free, and if was thanks to Sif's quick hands that he was pulled to safety. They watched dejectedly, however, as his pack of food and bedding went tumbling down to the icy depths in his flailing.

Later, a fierce storm drove them to abandon their path and find shelter within a cave carved into the face of a rocky cliff. Loki's suggestion that they return to Asgard to gain more adequate supplies had been met with hostility. It wasn't _Sif_ who had so foolishly lost her pack and it would not be _Sif_ who would abandon a Royal mission.

So they split their meager rations after an exhausting day and Loki was forced to attempt to find rest without the comforts of furs. Though he had spelled a sort of barrier at the mouth of the cave to keep the cold (and creatures) out and the warmth in, it was still undeniably freezing.

He rolled onto his other side and glared at Sif across the fire, groaning as he pushed himself off the ground and crossed over to her long form and stood where she had discarded the cold metal of her armor. Eyeing him suspiciously, she looked miserable buried in the fur lined canvas of her bag and trembling violently.

Grumbling under his breath, Loki toed out of his boots and efficiently removed the stiff leather of his outercoat before crouching down near her head. With an over-exaggerated sigh, he slid into her bag, wiggling behind her in the tight space.

"What in Hel's name do you think you are doing?!" Sif shouted over her shoulder with wide eyes.

"I can hear your teeth chattering from across the cave," Loki articulated matter-of-factly. "I cannot sleep with such a racket. So here I am to very generously offer my body heat."

"Get out!" Sif barked. When Loki fit his knees more firmly to the back of her legs, molding against her form, and simply pillowed an arm under his head she sighed in irritation. "This is ridiculous! I do not need your pity."

"This is not pity. We are friends, are we not? There is nothing to be ashamed of, it's perfectly natural to feel cold in the realm of ice." Sighing again, Loki summoned warmth to his hands and placed one palm tentatively on her arm. "Besides, we will never complete this forsaken quest if you perish from the cold during the night."

Sif stiffened at his touch, overly aware of the press of his body against her and her inability to move away, both from lack of desire and the constricting furs.

"Well, if it is so _normal_ to be frozen and quivering like a child, then why aren't you reacting in the same manner?"

"I am not sure," Loki admitted hesitantly. Warmth continued to pulse from his hand and he slowly began to drag it up her arm, keeping his touch light. "Perhaps my body is working some sort of magic in defense of the cold without my direct bidding, some unconscious reaction to the dangerous temperature. I do admit that my magic sometimes just reacts. Like when I was angry as a child and accidentally exploded Mother's vase..."

"This is still excessive," she hissed. "Why can you not just enchant the sleeping bag to produce heat throughout the night? Conjure a blanket, and leave me be."

"I cannot create something out of nothing, Sif." Loki stated as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Which it was obviously not.

"But you do it all the time. You can make copies of yourself, for Odin's sake."

"Illusions. That is just a visual trick. But to create something substantial, something truly physical would require me to use stores of energy that I do not currently possess."

"And," Sif persisted, "I've seen you pull daggers out of thin air."

"Pockets," he sighed. "I pull them out of hidden pockets. Unfortunately I did not hide away any extra bedding nor food for this trip. And as for enchanting your roll, I am afraid that that sort of prolonged magic is quite draining and I think you'll agree that it would be foolish of me to exhaust my facilities before this journey is complete." When Sif did not argue, he continued.

"I fear that we are out of options, aside from forsaking the mission and returning home empty handed." Sif snarled at that and Loki tried not to smile triumphantly behind her. "Using a temporary, simple spell and our combined body heat is the more economical, _practical_ way."

Sif snorted. "You are nothing if not practical."

"And you are nothing if not stubborn."

She elbowed him in the ribs.

"Truly though," Loki murmured, his voice in her ear. "I commend your stubbornness. Your determination," he clarified. He continued to slide his hand up and down her arm and tried not to think about other parts of her, about her body pressed against his in the tight space. "You are, occasionally, ornery and pigheaded but none can deny that you have persevered through obstacles that most cannot even truly fathom.

"But your persistence is admirable, truly. I know how hard it must be for you, Sif. Reconciling being a woman with a warrior, attempting to earn the respect of those who refuse to give it."

Sif blinked in surprise and relaxed against the magicked warmth of his hand on her arm. Why would he compliment her in such a way? Surely he must be playing with her.

"And what do you know about my struggles? They have never seem to catch your notice before."

"I -" Loki hesitated, "I know it is not easy to be the outsider. To go against what is expected of you."

Sif tried to ignore the way her body was growing warmer, not just due to his bewitched warmth and turned the conversation away from herself.

"Yes, well, you should be commended for your own feats, Silvertongue," she smiled at the nickname before growing more serious. "I know it cannot be easy to have your skills with magic and cleverness be overlooked for strengths of a physical nature. I know it takes great bravery to continue your studies despite the pressures of the old and inflexible elders who always wish to stick their noses into our business. The fools wish to stick us into roles based on our gender and cannot fathom any other life. But anyone who underestimates us is a dolt indeed."

"I must admit I feel envious of you on occasion," Loki murmured.

"Envious of _me_? I could only dream of what part of my life would be appealing to you. Is it the fact that everyone scoffs at what I do? Or that most refuse to acknowledge what I have gained? Perhaps that I have fought tooth and nail just in an attempt to carve out my place in this constricting world?"

"Yes, well I already have all of that," Loki spoke bitterly. "But you have _found_ your place of acceptance despite all of that."

Sif swallowed at his words, then spoke softly. "We do not always choose the path we are placed upon, but at least we do not travel this road alone." She curled her arm and placed her hand atop his. He was surprised, his hand pausing its travels along her shivering arm. "We may find strength in each other."

"We have each other," Loki whispered her words back to her, whether in contemplation or confirmation, she could not tell. He turned his palm under hers and grasped her hand briefly. She shivered at his touch.

"Are you not feeling warmer?"

"I am," she replied then added quieter, "thank you. Although I still cannot feel my face."

"Turn around."

Sif shifted, squirming in the tight space until she was facing the prince with her arms tucked against her chest between them, her knees knocking against his and her eyes level with his long neck. He wore a dark tunic with an absurdly high collar under his layers of now-discarded heavier leather. The stiff fabric reached nearly to the sharp line of his jaw and parted elegantly, framing the smooth swell of his throat. She watched that bump dip and rise, as Loki swallowed.

Her eyes lingered there, she thought of how much she would like to feel it when he spoke. To feel the vibrations of his voice hum against her fingertips, against her skin. She wanted to press her lips to his throat.

She wondered if it would feel different, when he spoke a truth and when he lied, if it had a flavor. Wondered if she could taste it on his lips, if a truth would taste sweeter on her tongue than a bitter lie when it slipped from his mouth.

In a near desperate way she wanted, needed, to know if the words he spoke to her were authentic. If he truly meant it when he said he found her admirable. Perhaps he was mocking her. Perhaps he _knew_, knew how much she craved to be acknowledge. By him. Whom she had so much in common with. But that would be cruel, would it not? She wished she could read his mind, as his words always left her confused; diverted and twisted in double meanings and mysteries as they passed over his silver tongue, she could never fully follow them.

Pulling herself from her distracted thoughts, she tentatively met his gaze. His eyes searched hers before taking in the state of her numb face. Loki pulled both of his hands up, letting them hoover before he delicately placed the tips of his fingers to her cheeks.

"Your lips are blue." His voice was a low curl and Sif's eyes flickered to that swell in his throat again. "You could pass for a Jotun."

"Would you not leave this bag, this cave? You should fear laying so near a terrifying frost giant." She pulled her eyes back up to his, deliberately matching his smirk as she felt the warm heat from his fingers sink slowly into the delicate skin of her cheeks. It felt like needle pricks, a sharp hot sting followed by a pleasant wash of warmth. It made her quake, lips quivering and teeth chattering.

"Hmm," he contemplated "You're a little small, are you not? What have I to fear?"

She pounded a cold fist against his chest in mock outrage. "Did we not just discuss such matters? Blinded by your expectations, you underestimate me! It is a foolish thing to make assumptions based on looks alone."

Continuing with his task, Loki dragged his fingertips across her brow and down the sharp lines of her face, pleased to see a soft flush return to her cheeks.

"Quite right, my lady." He swallowed and then met her eyes. "You are excessively beautiful to be a true frost giant, but you are no less fearsome, undoubtedly."

"Liar." Her heart felt heavy at his mocking.

"No." He whispered. "Not now. Not with you, my lady. Never with you."

His eyes fell from hers again, focusing on her trembling lips. He held her face, the tips of his fingers placed reverently against her sharp cheeks and brushed his warm thumbs across her lips.

He leaned his head down and pressed his lips to hers. From where they were tucked against her, Sif turned her hands and slid her palms up his chest, curled her fingers into the fabric of his high collar.

Almost hesitantly, he kissed her. His lips were soft and warm against her and Sif sighed when he drew away. Slipping between the dark fabric of the collar and his pale throat, Sif slid a hand to his nape and pulled him back to her.

Her lips were hot and and insistent. His long fingered hands worked back into her hair and his mouth opened under the demand of her lips. Her belly turned to liquid heat.

"Sif."

She rolled her tongue into his mouth, tasting her name. It thrilled her. If he spoke lies now, she could not deny the addicting sweetness of the taste. Moving her hands along his neck and to his face, she mapped the sharp lines of his cheeks as their kisses steadily deepened. His hands were hot in her hair and curling against her neck.

The tight space of the bag restricted their movement as they wrapped together, it was still not enough to be pressed flush against him. She wanted.

"Touch me."

The spell still in his hands, he slid his long hands down to the bottom of her crimson shirt then slipped underneath the hem, seeking the smooth skin of her stomach. His touch was soft, a gentle caress, but her skin ignited under his hands.

The warmth and heat of his magic danced across her ribs, her abdomen. All the while, she continued to lick and suck at his mouth, enjoying the smooth slide of his lips against hers.

He mapped a burning traill to her chest, feeling the weight of her breasts in his palms. Pushing under the fabric binding her chest, Loki pushed his heat into her skin, brushing his thumbs across her nipples.

Sif sighed into his mouth and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. She fought against the confined space and worked one of her legs over his, pulling herself impossibly closer.

He had great skill at this, the way he kissed her hard and needy and breathless then suddenly soft and tender. She could not decode the pattern. Her mind was reeling and she rocked against him, savoring the way his breath hitched against her lips.

She turned her head and exposed her neck to him. He moved his lips to her throat, sparking heat in her belly and between her legs that scorched as fervently as his magic. She held him tighter, mouthing at his ear.

"Oh, _Loki_." His name in her mouth, in his ear ripped a moan from his throat where his mouth was pressed hot against her skin. His mind was in disarray as all thoughts turned to her, to Sif, consuming him.

His hands worked their way around her ribs and slowly trailed down her back before pushing under the top of her leggings, grasping her rear and pulling her against his hips.

Sif fisted one hand tighter into his hair and allowed her other to skim down his body as she thrust her hips against his.

Loki groaned low and removed a hand, he gripped her leg and attempted to pull it higher over his hip. Closer. He wanted her closer. And though they were enveloped and entangled, she was not close enough.

He claimed her mouth again, desperate. Shoving his hand between their entangled forms, he spread his warm palm flat against her stomach and slid it slowly down the front of her leggings.

At the touch of his fingers brushing against her Sif gasped against his mouth, rocking into his touch. His eyes nearly rolled into the back of his head at how wet she was. He crushed his lips against hers letting his fingers seek and tease along her skin.

Moving agonizingly slow he slid his hand lower, cupping her. With the heel of his palm he pushed against her mound, squeezing as his fingers continued to lightly stroke her silken skin.

Sif moaned heatedly against his mouth and her grip on his hair convulsed at the pressure.

Her wanton response to his touch made his heart jump and his blood run hot and fast, causing his magic to spark hotter. Sif moaned appreciatively again as the pulse of heat sank through her.

Kissing him deeply and with abandon she trailed her own hand lower. Sif's fingers worked at his laces, pulling the top of his trousers open.

"We should...conserve our energy," he spoke between kisses, sounding deliciously breathless. "Keep our...clothes on...The cold."

"Right, yes" Sif nodded. "Clothes on," she said before grazing her teeth against his lip and taking him in her hand.

Yelping at the bite of her cool hand against his hard length, Loki jumped at her touch. He gasped again as she began to stroke him, the coolness shocking but curiously exciting, and pushed into her fist.

He worked his fingers against her, stroking and pumping, craving the sounds that fell from her lips. She stroked him, twisting her wrist between them and he groaned, deep and aroused.

He cupped her tighter, grinding the heel of his palm against her clitoris while his magic heat jumped and flowed in time with her own hand.

Bucking her hips, a tremble ran through her body, having nothing to do with the cold of the cave. Pressing her fingers into the bumps of his spine Sif clasped the nape of his neck with her free hand, dragging his mouth to hers.

He thrust into the circle of her hand and she heard the low purr in his throat, felt it on her tongue.

His long fingers continued to push at her, into her. He rubbed and pumped against her and Sif gasped his name and encouraged his ministrations, her own hand an exquisite pressure.

"Yes. Yes. _Yes_." He could tell by the rapid pace of her breath and the frantic jerks of her hand that she was close and he fought against his own overwhelming pleasure.

Straining, the muscles in his forearm ached at the awkward angle, he continued to touch her. He crooked his fingers and ground his hand into her and she was gone, unravelling. Convulsing in her pleasure she grabbed him tighter and he grunted and bucked hard against her, following her to completion. The cries of each other's name reverberated off the cave walls.

Languorously, he continued to stroke her there, drinking in her flushed cheeks and the flutter of her eyelids as she came down. He drew away with a slow hand, smoothing and lacing up their clothing, and disposed of any lingering liquids with a turn of his wrist. Reaching up to cradle her face, he drowsily kissed her.

"Are you still chilled, my lady?" he whispered against her lips, fighting to keep the smug smile off of his face and not quite succeeding.

"I am feeling quite hot, actually," Sif pulled his bottom lip between her teeth and tugged lightly. "I concede that your solution for staving off the cold has proven to be suitable."

"I aim to please," he laughed lightly as she tucked her arm around his ribs and tangled their legs in the snug and heated bag. He pulled a warm hand through her hair.

"Liar," she grinned and relaxed against him, her breathing slowing as she drifted to sleep with his magic dancing in her hair and her face pressed into his chest.

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